


a night out

by whamylate



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, who tf changed the tag to alexander elmslie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whamylate/pseuds/whamylate
Summary: He's struck with an odd nostalgic feeling. The window is damp with condensation, and the streetlights are burnished smears of amber through the fogged-up glass. There's just enough alcohol in his system to tempt sentimentality, just enough that he thinks about when he moved in with George.---kind of a scrap, was gonna wait until it was finished but the tag's a little dry at the moment. two parter it is!





	1. evening

The music is a little too loud, the bodies a little too close, the world a little too sharp. He takes a break for a minute and of course things calm down almost instantly, which is par for the course. Now it's just bright lights and a bunch of sweaty partygoers, standing around in awkward bunches or drinking stupid amounts. Much better.

They're all out together for once, which is nice. Alex surveys the room from his barstool perch and smiles at the sight of Will hanging onto Mia's arm on the edge of the dancefloor. They notice him looking and beam, twin grins, a little less than sober and a little more than happy. Well. It's still early.

He isn't surprised to see that Lauren and James are sat with Gee in one of the only booths, punctuating their discussion with wild gestures and sips of whatever toxic slime they've ordered this round. In fact, he's certain they're all pretty sober and just taking advantage of the atmosphere. Maybe he should stop brooding and join them. Maybe he should leave them to their fun.

And of course, Alex can hear Fraser to his left, kicking at the shiny bar and sipping a drink almost as bright as his eyes. He swivels the stool around to face him, and Fraser smiles like a madman. It's endearing.

That's everyone, drunk and having fun, with the notable exceptions of himself and George. Draining his glass as he scans the room for glasses and a grin, Alex ponders on where the fuck his roommate has slithered off to and feels the numb confidence of drink push the worry awa-wait. No. No, he doesn't.

He just really needs to piss all of a sudden.

And as it turns out, he was looking for the wrong things. The glasses aren't even on his face - they're clenched in one hand tightly, so tightly Alex imagines they must be about to shatter. As for the grin...

George is leaning against the sink in the toilets, running one hand through his hair and using the other to mangle his glasses. Alex knows he sees his reflection, but even his booze-addled inhibitions know this isn't the time for a joke. He goes to touch the spot on George's arm that usually calms him down. He just flinches away, as if by reflex. He obviously doesn't want a conversation yet, and so Alex just hunkers down and waits to be acknowledged.

It takes a while. People come in and out. Alex migrates to sitting on the windowsill and tries to identify light sources through the distorted glass. George's breathing quickens and slows at regular-ish intervals. Alex still really needs to fucking piss, so he does. George ignores him, and it's oddly liberating. Alex does something. George barely reacts. Alex cocks his head. George braces himself against the taps. Alex and George and Alex and George and James wanders in.

The man is wasted, flushed and flamboyant. It's equal parts endearing and worrying, so Alex just nods carefully along as James talks.

"Lauren's ousside," he slurs warmly after pausing his rambling for a moment of contemplation. "Can yous stop shaggin' for five seconds 'n come find th'Uber?"

"We're not-" Alex squawks, falling heavily from the windowsill.  
"We're not-" George protests simultaneously, standing up straight and mostly sober. A shadow flits over his face as he hoists Alex up. "We're not doing anything."

James smirks and sarcastically agrees. Alex feels like he's floating as they leave, George avoiding eye contact like a champion. Or maybe he's just a little bit drunk. God knows it feels like everyone has more alcohol than water in their blood right about now.

Sorting out the Uber is predictably awkward. Alex manages to coerce Will, Mia, Fraser and Gee into one car and tells the driver that he'll pay for them when they get home (even though it won't be home for much longer). She looks him up and down, shrugs and nods. He leaves them alone to the sound of raucous laughter. At least somebody's having fun, he ruminates grimly.

That leaves him with Lauren, James and...and George. Clearly George is the most sober among them, as he takes the passenger seat and promptly pretends to fall asleep. Alex knows how he really sleeps, slack-jawed and starfishing over whatever he's sitting on, but he has problems of his own to deal with.

Namely, James and Lauren. They both smell of alcohol, and they're both being uncharacteristically touchy-feely, which is none of Alex's business but makes the car feel about half the size. The driver clearly pities him, and stretches out the pleasantries for as long as he can, but after a while conversation peters out naturally and Alex just has to press himself up against the window and try to quell his headache.

He's struck with an odd nostalgic feeling. The window is damp with condensation, and the streetlights are burnished smears of amber through the fogged-up glass. There's just enough alcohol in his system to tempt sentimentality, just enough that he thinks about when he moved in with George.

That train of thought makes him impossibly sad, opening up the yawning canyon he's been trying to fill with dancing and drinks, so he stops and pokes George in the back of the neck. He tenses, but doesn't open his eyes.

"What happened back there?" Alex murmurs as gently as he can, softens his voice as if he's talking to a wounded animal. It's so hard to concentrate, but he feels like he has to say s _omething._

George turns his head and sighs, lashes damp over reddened eyes.

"Just felt a bit lonely. Don't worry about it boss, I'm alright."

The lie sits between them, blatant and engorged, until George smiles widely and scrunches up his face. "You look - ha! - you look like I just said I'm inviting the taxman over." Alex punches him in the arm and explains to the Uber driver that he really does pay his taxes, but he worries because he's seen that megawatt smile somewhere before.

When he's exhausted and just doesn't want to create anything, when he just wants to sleep but his friends need him, he sees it in the mirror. Something's going on, but right now George needs him to agree that everything is fine; Alex smiles back at him and ruffles his hair before pretending to sleep himself.

He's more worried than he'd like to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you want endgame george and alex or a plot twist with one of the other two 🤧


	2. endgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, finally :)

Why is it so dark outside the windows? England is never this dark. _London_ is never this dark. There's a kind of comfort he takes in the constancy of bright, well-lit stages to play out life here, a sense of belonging that cuts through the impersonal anxieties of crowds and and smog and noise. Which is when he notices that things are silent.

He can't hear the engine, he can't see the streetlights, he can't even hear James laughing or Lauren murmuring and he wonders briefly if he's actually gone deaf. He turns around and the only person in the car is him. Too many of himself, smiling back at him with sly eyes and trembling smiles and grasping hands and maybe he screams.

One of him opens their mouth, teeth more pointed than his own, eyes wide and red-rimmed, and gurgles coldly, "Mate, I think we're nearly home."

Alex wakes up.

God, what a mess. His eyes are leaking tears that might be of fear or fatigue, and George is leaning over looking unduly worried. The driver is ignoring them, but his brow furrows in the mirror. Even James and Lauren seem a little put out. And they're absolutely off their heads.

"Right, yeah. Sorry about that. Uber's my treat tonight, okay?"

James, the one who bought most of the drinks, seems very happy with this proclamation. By confused extension Lauren claps her hands, but George doesn't say anything.

He keeps not saying anything. He doesn't say a word as they help the other two out. He doesn't say a word when Alex catches his eye whilst closing the door. He doesn't seem to breathe whilst Alex pays their driver and goes off to placate the other one after an hour of dealing with four drunkards.

Only when the Ubers are gone and they are coaxing their six idiot friends upstairs does he stop ignoring Alex (which kind of hurts).

"You sure you're okay?" he murmurs as he places Lauren's hand on the railing in the lift.

"You sure _you're_ okay?" Alex shoots back pointedly, actively trying not to worsen Fraser's nausea.

"Well, if you're gonna be like that-"

"Not my fault you won't, like, talk to me about it-"

"Alex, maybe it's none of your-"

"George, I'm not a kid, can you just-"

"Shhh!" Will sloppily raises a hand to both of their faces, shushing them with all the accuracy and tact he is known for. Which is to say he pokes them both in the mouth. "You're gon' get 'victed..."

The absurdity of it diffuses the tension immediately. Alex looks down at George and summons an apologetic smile from the darkening depths.

"They can't do that twice, pal." This satisfies Will enough for him to pull them both into the kind of hug that crushes ribs. The proximity is as choking as his grip, and Alex thrashes about to no avail as everyone else has a little chuckle at his expense. He's surprised when he hears himself chuckle too.

Getting everyone to bed is in itself a marathon task. At least George is functioning as they trek up and down the tower, unwilling to leave anyone behind in the state they're in. From the outside, he imagines it's an absolute riot. Six wasted morons and two impatient friends shepherding them into the lift and out again for what feels like hours. Stephen would have a fucking field day.

Finally, their Herculean feat is done. It's got to be past three, and Alex pats James on the back as all six foot odd of him collapses onto the sofa. George waits at the door for a moment, and then they head downstairs in companionable quiet. The silence is nicer this time.

"That," George proclaims as he locks up the apartment and turns to where Alex is sat on the kitchenette, "was bloody awful. Remind me not to be responsible next time you're all hammered," he groans, gesturing vaguely upstairs to where their friends should be sleeping it off. Alex stretches out both legs and shrugs, wondering if there'll be a next time.

"We're literally moving out," he points out, gesturing to the boxes piled haphazardly next to the sofa. "It's gonna be, like, a hot minute until we're all together again."

With a noncommittal shrug, George pours them both water and plonks himself down in front of the Xbox. The vibrant colours hurt Alex's eyes, but he sits and sips anyway. "I wonder how we'll do the pod with all the set at James'." George shrugs again, and when Alex glances over his mouth is set into a grim line. It's odd, because his friend is not usually the kind to clam up with such stubborn guile, but Alex doesn't comment on it. "I was just wondering if you're doing okay?"

George lets out a short, shrill bark of a laugh and downs his water like it's something much stronger. Shivers like it too, and shoots him that familiar empty smile. Next, Alex supposes, he will sprout fangs and go for the jugular.

What actually happens is arguably worse than the morbid fantasies of Alex's alcohol buzz and nightmares.

George looks over at his concerned scowl and starts to cry.

Of course Alex stands up and that's as far as he gets, frozen in space and what feels like time as his flatmate sniffles into his hands. A little eternity passes before he can muster the strength to unball his fists, grab the kitchen roll and tear some off for George.

"It's not fair!" he explodes into Alex's awareness as soon as they're both sat down again. "It's not fair 'ow they can all just be...be so comfortable, and, and like, all together, and you just-" George buries his face in Alex's nice shirt and whines low and long. "'M sorry."

"No, mate, no, it's fine," the platitudes stumble over themselves on his tongue like sour sugar, and he spits them out with the same dour urgency. "What's on your mind?" George looks up at him with hopeless eyes and murmurs something that he can't be hearing right, so Alex crouches down to listen.

"You," George says louder, too loud, staring like a rabbit caught in headlights. "You've been so _good_ to me, I, I don't, why are you so..." He trails off, looking hopeless and flushed and stricken with fear as their faces get closer and closer. It looks oddly pretty on him, which is a thought Alex lets slip through in the heat of the moment and tries not to reflect on. "So kind, 'n understanding, 'n beautiful, so-"

Every nerve in Alex's body is on fire. It's the buzz of alcohol, he thinks for a moment, but he's never felt as stone cold sober as when he cuts George's rambling off with a kiss. It's pretty damn gross, all told, and both of them are crying, but they've latched onto each other now.

And Alex feels - and he can tell that George feels - that he never wants to fucking let go ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this makes no sense, it was really just a little side project but i hope u enjoyed it x

**Author's Note:**

> do you want endgame george and alex or a plot twist with one of the other two 🤧


End file.
